The Prodigal
by Danja
Summary: AU. Follow-up to "The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!". Theora meets Mr. Best. R&R. FINAL CHAPTER UP!
1. Flashback

**The Prodigal**

**Chapter One**

A/N: This is a follow-up to my earlier story, "The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!"**  
**

**

* * *

**

FADE IN

CUT TO: Three attractive middle-aged women (a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead) dining at an elegant restaurant.

Sonorous Male Voice-over: "Tonight on Orange County" ...

Brunette: "Is this chicken or is this fish?"

Redhead: "It's Chilean Sea Bass. It's fish."

Blonde: "I hear the seared flounder is pretty good."

Blonde pauses for a beat.

Blonde: "Oh, have you heard about Nancy?

Brunette: "No."

Blonde: "She thinks Bryan is having an affair ..."

CUT TO: Max Headroom

* * *

Max: "Why in God's name do you _WATCH_ this show?

"Seriously, it's about a bunch of wealthy women ... who are as ss-shallow as all get out-tt ... who have nothing bb-better to do than to eat in expensive restaurants, shop in expensive bb-boutiques, and gossip about the most intimate dd-details of their ll-lives (and those of their friends and loved ones) in front of millions of people!

"Have these women no LIVES? Do they think us voyeurs?"

STATIC

* * *

FADE IN

"_You foolish girl!" the looming nun screamed in Romanian. The cane was at the ready in her right hand._

_An eight-year-old Teodora Barbu (who was to become the future Theora Jones) held onto the back of the chair for dear life. _

_Please, God, please … take me away from here, Teodora prayed silently in Romanian._

_WHACK! went the _cane_. Teodora winced as she felt the sting of the __rattan cane__ against the back of her legs._

"_You will pay for your disobedience!" the nun screamed in Romanian. WHACK! went the __cane__ again._

_Teodora grasped the back of the chair tightly. I must not cry, she thought. If I do, it'll only make things worse.

* * *

_

All at once, Theora - now a grown woman - suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. Her breathing was labored, her chest heaving.

"Theora," said Edison's voice. "Theora!"

Theora looked around the room. _Edison?__ What is he doing _HERE_? _she wondered. She glanced around to find Max Headroom - Edison Carter's digitized _doppelganger _- staring back at her from the TV that was sitting next to her bed.

"Theora, are you all rr-right?" Max asked, concerned.

Theora held her temples and shook her head. _No._

"Should I call pp-paramm-medics-ss?" Max asked in his signature stutter.

Theora shook her head. _No. _"I'm fine," she said.

"Y-you just said you _ww-weren't,_" Max countered.

"I don't need paramedics," said Theora crisply.

"What's w-wrong?" Max asked.

Theora looked at the clock radio sitting on a nearby nightstand - Oh-Two-Thirty hours. "Nothing."

"_SOMETHING _woke you up," Max shot back.

Theora let out a sigh. "Flashback," she said, glancing at Max.

"What's a ff-flash-bb-back?" Max asked, his curiosity piqued.

Theora licked her lips. "When people undergo … traumatic experiences," she explained. "Sometimes … they … _RE-LIVE _them."

"But … you were just in bb-bed!" Max countered.

"They're haunted … by the _memories_," Theora continued. "There's no escaping them. They're … _all-consuming_.

"They strike … without _warning_."

"Even in bed?" Max asked.

Theora nodded. "Even in bed," she replied softly.

"Wanna tt-talk about-tt i-it?" Max asked.

"Maybe later," Theora replied.

"You're safe now," said Max reassuringly.

Theora smiled. "Thanks, Max," she said quietly.


	2. Neutral Ground

**Chapter Two

* * *

**

"What was it like?" Edison asked Theora later that morning at Network 23. He was standing over Theora as she was typing on her PC.

"What was WHAT like?" Theora replied nonchalantly as she made a few keystrokes on her PC.

"You know … you and Mr. Best," Edison pressed on. "You and … _him._"

"I hardly ever saw him," Theora replied flatly without taking her eyes off the screen.

Edison's eyebrows shot upwards. "You never saw him?"

Theora stopped typing and glanced up at Edison. "He was often away on business," she explained. "Plus, I went to boarding school."

"BOARDING school?" Edison exclaimed.

Theora turned back towards her PC and resumed her typing. "When I was a teenager, he sent me to boarding school in Switzerland," she said.

_She's like an onion, _Edison thought. _Every day, she keeps me peeling back the layers._

Theora stopped typing. "We used to go skiing at Christmas," she said mournfully. "Vail ... St. Moritz ... Chamonix …"

Edison noticed the temperature drop thirty degrees all of a sudden. "Look, I … didn't mean to upset you …"

Theora closed her eyes and shook her head. _No. _"Before I met Mr. Best, I never really _HAD _a Christmas," she said softly. "At the orphanage, we went to chapel, had Christmas dinner … and that was it.

"As far as _I_ was concerned, it was a holiday for rich people."

"Santa never came to your orphanage, huh?" Edison asked.

Theora shook her head softly. _No.

* * *

_

Later that evening, Theora sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the business card that Edison had given her earlier. Her (always-on, by law) TV played next to her bed.

_How could you have been so _stupid? Theora berated herself. _You had everything, and you threw it away._

_And for _WHAT? _Drugs? A roll in the hay?_

Theora flopped back down on the bed and let out a sigh. _Wherever can I _MEET _him? _she wondered. _I can't go back to that house._

HIS _house._

Theora took the TV remote and surfed through the channels. She came to a stop on an old spy movie.

* * *

"Darling, wherever can we meet?" asked the dashing hero in a trench coat.

"We will meet on neutral ground," the gorgeous heroine replied in thickly-accented English. "In the middle of the East-West bridge in Berlin."

* * *

_Neutral ground, _Theora thought as she muted the sound. _Neutral ground._

An idea came to her. With one hand, she picked up a cordless phone. With the other, she picked up Mr. Best's business card. Having done this, she proceeded to dial Mr. Best's home number.

"Best Residence," a man's voice (butler?) answered with a crisp British accent.

"I wish to make an appointment to see Mr. Best," said Theora.

"Whom should I say is calling?" the voice asked.

"My name is Theora Jones," Theora replied. "I am his daughter."


	3. School Days

**Chapter Three

* * *

**

_Fifteen-year-old Teodora Barbu stood at her locker at St. Michael's Academy, a private school for girls._

_As she stood in the hallway, putting her books away in her locker, a teenage girl's voice cried out, "HEY! __Barbie Girl__!"_

_Teodora ignored the voice. Not _HER_ … Not today._

"_I'm talking to _YOU_, __Barbie Girl__!"_

_Teodora turned towards the voice. It belonged to none other than Lindsay van Buren. She was sixteen, blonde, and the school's resident fashion plate._

_Lindsay's hair had so much gel, if she were to stand next to an open flame for too long, it was liable to catch fire. She had long, expensive, French-manicured fingernails._

_Standing behind Lindsay was her entourage, Mindy and Lisa, divas-in-training._

"_Go away," said Teodora as she kept putting away her books, trying to ignore Lindsay. _

"_I don't think so," Lindsay cackled._

_Teodora slammed the door of her locker shut and walked away down the hall, Lindsay and her crew tagging along right behind her._

"_What's shakin', __Barbie Girl__?" Lindsay hissed, making fun of Teodora's last name.  
_

_"Boo Boo" ... "Barbell" ... "__Barbie Girl__" ... those were the hideous mocking nicknames that Lindsay had bestowed upon Teodora. It went without saying that Teodora herself despised all of them  
_

"_Leave me alone," Teodora growled _

"_Not talkin' to me?" Lindsay asked innocently._

"_Good-bye, Lindsay," said Teodora, her patience rapidly wearing thin. Ever since Teodora had first arrived at St. Mike's two years ago, Lindsay van Buren had been the bane of her life, sticking to her like dog you-know-what on the bottom of her shoe._

"_COME BACK HERE!" Lindsay shouted as she grabbed Teodora's shoulder._

_At that moment, Teodora wheeled around and delivered an uppercut to Lindsay's jaw! _

_Two years of suppressed rage was suddenly released all at once, concentrated in that one single blow._

"_LEAVE ME ALONE!" Teodora roared._

_Lindsay rubbed her jaw, stared wide-eyed at Teodora, and cried, "BITCH!" She then lunged forward, grabbed a clump of Teodora's hair, and scratched her face with her claw-like fingernails._

_The fight was now on. Teodora reached around Lindsay's neck, grabbed her in a clinch, and delivered several jabs to her midsection. Students were milling all around them chanting, "FIGHT! FIGHT!"_

"_YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, BITCH!" Lindsay screamed as she struggled to break out of Teodora's hold. "YOU ARE SO DEAD!"_

_It was then that two assistant deans came seemingly out of nowhere, pulled the two fighting girls apart, and packed the both of them off to the Dean's office.

* * *

_

_A short while later, Teodora found herself sitting in Dean Woolcott's office. _

"_Now, Teodora," said the Dean. The Dean himself sat behind a massive oak desk, facing Teodora. "We do not hit people here."_

"_You mean _I_ cannot hit people here," Teodora retorted._

"_No, I mean _WE_ do not hit people here," the Dean gently corrected her. "This goes for the staff too."_

_Teodora stared at the Dean, her jaw agape. _

_They do not hit people here? Teodora thought. How can this be?_

"_The nuns," Teodora began._

"_What nuns?" The Dean inquired._

"_The nuns … back in Romania," Teodora continued. "They … _beat_ … me._

"_How old … do I have to be … before I can hit someone?"_

"_So … you think that once you reach a certain age, you're allowed to hit people?" The Dean asked. "Is that correct?"_

"_Yes, Sir," Teodora replied softly. _

_The Dean sighed. "It seems that we have some … cross-cultural … issues to resolve here," he said. He then added, "Seeing as how you're new to this country, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time._

"_A warning … and a recommendation for anger management counseling."_

"_Thank you, Sir," Teodora said gratefully, bowing her head slightly._

"_We have a 'Three Strikes' policy here," the Dean warned. "Three strikes … You're out."_

_Teodora stared at the Dean quizzically. "What is a 'strike'?" she asked._

_She's from Romania. She's never played baseball, the Dean thought. "A strike is an offense, a violation of the rules of this school," the Dean explained._

"_First offense … Strike One … You're suspended for a week._

"_Second offense …Strike Two … You're suspended for TWO weeks._

"_Third offense … Strike Three …You're expelled."_

"_Expelled?" Teodora asked._

"_Thrown out of this school," the Dean explained. "Never to return."

* * *

_

_A few days later, Mr. Best was in Dean Woolcott's office, sitting at Teodora's side before Dean Woolcott's desk._

_"Mr. Best," said Dean Woolcott to Mr. Best. "With all due respect to your position as Chairman of Network Three ..."_

_"Yes?" Mr. Best interjected._

_"You really need to do a better job of controlling ..." Dean Woolcott paused and grunted. "... Your daughter."_

_Mr. Best sighed. "Mr Woolcott," he said. "I can either be Chairman of Network Three ... or I can control Teodora._

_"I _CANNOT_ do_ BOTH_."_

* * *

_I was packed off to boarding school in Switzerland the very next year._

_If Lindsay van Buren was the model of the perfect little lady, I wanted no part of it._


	4. Las Fontanas

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Las Fontanas was a restaurant and _tapas_ bar located in the North End of town. True to its Latin theme, the walls featured deep red cherry paneling. The dimly-lit candlelit room was furnished with wrought iron tables that were topped with decorative tiles.

Theora drummed her fingers nervously on the table and bit her lip, waiting for Mr. Best. A basket of sourdough rolls and a small bowl of pesto sauce sat near her elbow.

* * *

_From Barcelona to London, to South Beach, New York and Metro City, Theora partied._

_It was a world that was unlike any she'd ever known in the past (a world far removed from the orphanage - and the nuns - back in Romania). A speed and ecstasy-fueled world bathed in laser light and dry-ice smoke that pulsed to a house and techno beat._

* * *

_When she wasn't partying, there was the sex ... and hacking (Nothing ever got stolen ... too risky. Too much of a risk of hard time. Nothing spoils a party like time in prison.)_

_Back in South Beach, she paid the rent by waiting tables at some of SoBe's hippest and hottest cafes and nightclubs. Gangsters, models, athletes, singers, and movie stars ... hers was now a world of glitz and celebrity. The toast of South Beach made its way to her table._

_It was in South Beach that she learned to keep secrets. (This married actor might be seeing a model on the side. That athlete might be enjoying a threesome even as his wife is waiting for him back in New York or Toronto.)  
_

* * *

"Theora! Good to see you!" said Mr. Best as the server showed him to Theora's table. Tonight, he dressed casually for this occasion, wearing khaki slacks, a salmon-colored polo shirt, and tan boat shoes.

Theora rose to greet Mr. Best. "It's good to see you too," she said with a smile.

"I must say you have excellent taste," said Mr. Best as he noted the decor. "The ahi tuna here is exquisite."

"I had a good teacher," said Theora softly with a shy smile as she and Mr. Best sat down.

* * *

_After hacking and waiting tables in South Beach, Theora eventually made her way back to Metro City._

_As time progressed, she'd become an expert hacker_. _ (Someone, it was said, who could pull off the seemingly impossible. Someone who could go where few others dared.)_

_To her, it was a game. A game of "Catch Me If You Can" that was played on the expensive, secure(?) systems of complete and total strangers.  
_

* * *

_Tim was the last one._

_Or was it Tom? _

_Mike? _

_Steve? _

_Craig? _

_Did the guy even _HAVE _a name?_

_It didn't matter (on the drugs, nothing ever did). Theora slept with him all the same._

_The morning after sleeping (and having sex with) this stranger lying in the bed next to her, Theora made a decision._

_She wanted out._

_She wanted a normal life.  
_

* * *

"How are things?" said Mr. Best.

Theora swallowed nervously. "Father … I've hurt you," she began. "I've made mistakes.

"I've done things … that I regret."

Theora licked her lips. "I've treated you horribly," she continued. "After everything you've done for me, this is the thanks you've received.

Theora sighed. "For that, I am sorry," she concluded.

"We all make mistakes," said Mr. Best. He then added solemnly, "When I adopted you, I adopted a human being."

"You've treated me better than I deserve," said Theora softly. "I appreciate your help … with the Russian Mob."

"I always had faith in you," said Mr. Best. "I'm glad to see you've turned yourself around." Mr. Best paused. "Murray has told me about the great work you've done for Network 23."

"There's something I don't understand," said Theora. "Why did you not change my last name … to Best … when you adopted me?"

Mr. Best thought for a moment. "I didn't want to take away your culture … your heritage," he said. "When I adopted you, you had so little from your previous life.

"I … didn't want to take away what little you had left."

"There will always be a part of me that is Romanian," said Theora. "Nothing will change that. A court order will not change that."

"Yes, that is true," said Mr. Best.

"Who am I?" Theora asked.

Mr. Best paused to reflect for a moment. "You're the only person who can answer that question," he said.

"I've spent the last ten _YEARS_ trying to answer that question," said Theora. "Apart from you ... apart from the state.

"Who am_ I_ ... as an individual?"

Mr. Best let out a sigh. "You're not the first person to 'sow their oats', as it were, when they're young," he said. "And you won't be the last.

"Did I ever tell you about the time when I was in the Marines in Okinawa … ?"

THE END


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